


scrawny motherfucker with a cool hairstyle

by imallexx



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, idk just drugs and crime, kinda gta but London, marriott is a coked up businessman, masked memeulous, willne is george’s right hand man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26285191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imallexx/pseuds/imallexx
Summary: George Memeulous is the masked and mysterious boss of Central London’s most infamous drug cartel. Alex is one of many Class B dealers under George’s regime. Crime ensues.
Relationships: George Andrew/Alex Elmslie, George Andrew/Will Lenney
Comments: 27
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to one of my more serious works. If you’ve read my other one, well, you get the gist. 
> 
> I’m really unsure about continuing this, so feedback is much appreciated. I just really like the idea of George being a drug lord and no one knows what he looks like ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.
> 
> If you would rather read this on Wattpad, just let me know and I’ll sort it out over there :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

  
_**Being the king of Central London’s most prolific undercover drug ring was becoming almost second nature to George. After his father died in a shootout at Camden Lock three years ago, he headed operations almost immediately. His dad taught him from a young age the ins and outs of his industry, as he knew very well that one day, he would no longer be around to carry on his infamous legacy.** _

—

Greg Andrew was tough and condescending, but George loved him very dearly. As young as 13, the son was accompanying his father to the Docklands during his school holidays to watch him barter with and threaten other “businessmen” to get the best deal on large shipments of Class-A drugs. George’s mother believed Greg was tainting his son too young, and they argued the case constantly. While Mary wanted another one of Greg’s associates to take over the business, her husband insisted their son should keep it in the family. Eventually they came to a compromise. George could take on the head role if - and _only_ if - he remained anonymous. From then on, it was decided that George would wear a disguise in the workplace, as to keep as much of what his mother deemed a “normal” life outside of it. 

“What do you want to be called while we’re at work, kid?” Greg asked one day. Being 14 at the time and in a rather questionable stage of life where his mates browsed Reddit called each other ‘memelord’s’ on a regular basis, George almost immediately replied:

“Memeulous?” 

“Hm. Meme-u-less, you say? Are you sure?” his father countered.

“Uh, yeah, I guess?”

“If you choose this now, you can’t exactly change it, G. It’ll stick like black tar heroin in the business,” Greg chuckled. “You’re positive?” His father asked again.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” and that was the end of it. 

—

When George turned 16, his father got him his very own pistol. On the morning of his birthday, he unwrapped the brushed steel case that contained it. Greg sat at the foot of his only son’s bed, positively beaming at the sight of him holding the black M9 in his small hands. 

“After school, I can take you to the shooting range if you like? Your old dad’ll train you up. What do you think?” Greg smiled. 

“Yeah! That’d be sick, Dad. Cheers.” George replied.

“That’s the ticket. Now get up, G. Breakfast is on the table.” His father stood up, ruffled his son’s hair and left the room.

When George arrived dressed in the Kitchen, his mother was sat at the opposite end of the table, smiling at him. 

“Your Dad’s left for work, he has a meeting with Jack at 9.” Mary said sweetly. 

George grunted a reply through a mouthful of beans on toast. He finished quickly, swung his backpack over his shoulder, kissed his mum goodbye and left for school.

Little did he know, George’s 16th birthday would officially be his worst. For that was the day he saw Greg for the last time, and dropped out of education to take on the head role of his father’s drug cartel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is more of George's backstory. I couldn't wait to upload it lol. Next chapter will start the story proper, promise!
> 
> TYSM for the feedback on chapter 1 i really appreciate it <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me asks at meme-ulous.tumblr.com <3

As strange as it may seem, George actually did well in school. While his father actively involved him in crime from a young age, he also pressured his son to do his homework, revise regularly and most importantly, never tell a soul, not even his closest friends, what his dad did as a job. When asked, George always said that Greg was a stock broker for a large company on the Wharf, which was why he was so ridiculously wealthy. 

George would have liked to think that if his dad hadn’t died, or perhaps he led a somewhat normal life, he would’ve gone to University to study Media or Game Development. At his core, George knew that being a king of crime wasn’t who he wanted to be. He never expressed these desires in front of his father, however, because the man was hell-bent on his son becoming the successor of the biggest cartel in London. Though he was kind, Greg was strict and demanding when it came to work. George was just glad that his final interaction with his dad wasn’t a bad one.

The shooting happened in Camden at 23:42 on George’s 16th birthday. After returning from school, the boy sat downstairs and waited impatiently for his father’s return, so they could go to the shooting range. George had waited and waited. Hours stretched into days; both mother and son knew that the worst had happened.

His body was never recovered. The only reason the Andrew’s knew that Greg wasn’t coming home came in the form of a polaroid picture of his dead body in a bloodied envelope, which was posted under the shutters of one of his lesser known warehouses. There was no time to grieve. Some nights, George recalled the feeling of his father’s calloused fingers scratching his head on the morning of the day he turned sixteen.

From then on, George took over the business and became Memeulous full-time. A name that as a 19 year-old, he despised. His dad was right, it had stuck hard in the business and no one could take the teen seriously. It was too late to change it now.

As Memeulous, George felt invincible. Without a face to show, no one would know what to expect from him. His bandana, sunglasses, cap and crisp suit became something to be feared by both criminals and civilians alike. Rumours spread that the man had had his face mangled beyond recognition, and that he had lost an eye in a gunfight shortly after his father’s tragic demise. Others said that he was remaining anonymous as he was actually a famous celebrity that ran the cartel on the side. It was amusing to George, as it couldn’t be further from the truth. In reality, he was just a kid who liked to play FIFA and spend ludicrous amounts of money on ROKA wagyu ribeye. 

He was shrouded in mystery thanks to his mother’s wishes - something he was highly grateful for. Her insistence for her son to wear a disguise had allowed him a freedom that his father never had. Outside of work, the teen was able to do his weekly shop at the Tesco’s down the road without fear of being kidnapped. He made his voice deeper and accent thicker when he became Memeulous, so he could get away with a game of Pro Clubs with his mates whenever he wanted. The voice was a good idea really, it compensated for the fact he was shorter than most of the men he traded with. The low London accent was threatening, but perhaps the shiny black M9 he kept tucked in the inside pocket of his suit jacket helped a little too.

By the time he was seventeen, Memeulous eventually learnt how to wield his birthday present with accuracy he was sure his father would have been proud of. It took months of intensive sessions at the shooting range to master the weapon, but it had paid off. George could now kill men with one shot if he was so inclined. His armoury manager Stephen was fundamental in his success. He had aided George nightly in exchange for a few grams of London’s finest, unrefined cocaine. 

George never really felt the need to dabble in the drugs himself, but had once drunkenly binged on a certain powdered substance with some of his closest friends. He soon realised that illegal highs made him relive the night his father died, and from there on he promised himself he wouldn’t get into that state again; it made him feel indescribably vulnerable. Being sober meant safety in the mind of the drug lord, and that is something he would learn to live by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the life of me i can't get rid of the other end note and it's driving me CRAZY. pls ignore it thank u


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alex gets into a scuffle. 
> 
> TW for some swearing, blood, smoking and some homophobic comments.
> 
> thanks for reading! <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come and see me over at meme-ulous.tumblr.com !

Down a dark and grimy alleyway in Central London, another punch was thrown into the nose of a short, scrawny teen, sending him sprawling to the ground. Through a cough and a splutter for breath, a quiet ‘fuck you!’ could barely be heard -but it was- resulting in a kick to the stomach before the offender spat an abrasive slur, turned on his heel and walked out of the mouth of the alley, leaving a small, bloodied huddle on the damp concrete.

Alex didn’t help himself, really. He was an outwardly feminine teen carving a life for himself on the streets of the Capital, selling drugs for -in his opinion- someone too pussy to do it himself. He couldn’t complain though, the boss paid him well enough, keeping a roof over his head and clean clothes on his back. He’d never met the man personally, only hearing whispered rumours about him. From the snatches of conversation he’d eavesdropped on, he’d put together that Memeulous was a highly dangerous man, albeit short and just as boyish-looking in stature as Alex himself. His contact list was apparently rife with high-profile criminals, traffickers and assassins. Memeulous could have someone completely wiped off the Earth with no trace that they were ever there at the drop of a hat. Alex would have given a shiver at the thought of being on the receiving end of his wrath if he wasn’t still severely winded from the kick to his stomach minutes before. 

He’d really let his guard down recently. His defence was getting sloppy, and he kept forgetting to check regularly for tails. There wasn’t a reason for it, Alex just couldn’t help that the life of a drug dealer was desperately grinding him down. He felt constantly on edge and anxious, and was worrying way too much for it to be healthy.

Catching his breath, he pulled himself into a sitting position and began to assess the damage. Alex gingerly pressed his hands to his ribs. Fortunately, none were broken, just bruised. His lip was split and along with his nose was dripping thick, dark blood into his mouth. The metallic taste made him cringe and he spat on the floor to get rid of the offending liquid. He felt around for his bag, but it was nowhere in his immediate reach. Panic began to set in.

“Shit!” Alex swore.

He was meant to be meeting a woman for a deal in 20 minutes, but the bastard who assaulted him must've taken the backpack that contained the stash. This was the second time the dealer had “misplaced” a package just this month, and he grimaced at the thought of having to tell Brian, his supervisor, that it was gone. He’d go to the higher ups for sure; then Alex was  _ really  _ for it. Memeulous would have him disappear. It was only £80 worth of weed but who cares! A loss is a loss and it won’t go down well. They’ll probably try to say that Alex was just stealing the weed for himself, which was outright untrue. Fear struck the teen like another punch to the nose. He’d have to run, go into hiding. The deal was now minutes away and Alex hadn’t got a gram to sell. Clambering to his feet, the dealer staggered to the end of the alleyway and out onto the main road. He began his trip home, limping slightly from the earlier attack.

Half an hour and one DLR ride later, Alex arrived at his rather run-down block of flats. He swung open the door, heading up the stairs, past the out-of-order lift to his small, dingy excuse for a home. It was a studio apartment that was built in the 50s. He got to his door and unlocked it with the keys he’d fortunately kept hold of during the assault. The living space was made up of only two rooms. There was damp on the ceiling and the neighbours above him argued constantly. The teen closed the door behind him, sliding the chain over in the process. He walked over and collapsed on the threadbare sofa, slumping against the cushions and closing his eyes, wincing as his nose twinged painfully. He couldn’t tell how long he sat there in the darkness before he heard a sharp rapping on his door that made him jump almost a foot into the air. Alex stood up silently and tip-toed towards the door, looking through the peephole. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ .” he murmured as he saw the tall, muscled, skinhead man standing at his door with a grim look on his face. He jumped again as the man banged at the door a second time, with more force than the last attempt. Alex grimaced as he slowly opened the door with the chain preventing it from opening any further than a few inches. 

“Alright?” Alex asked furtively. Brian stared straight at him with a knowing look.

“Let me in, kiddo. We need to sit and chat. That  _ alright  _ with you?” the Geordie countered.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Give us a sec,” Alex gulped, swinging the door shut, sliding the chain off and reopening it, motioning for Brian to enter his premises. The significantly larger man stepped through the door and Alex shut it behind him. He turned to see Brian taking a seat on the sofa. The dealer’s supervisor was an intimidating man, but the way he was sitting made Alex feel like he  _ wasn’t  _ going to get knocked out any time soon, so he took a seat opposite him on an equally shabby armchair. After a few minutes of just staring at his employee, Brian let out a sigh.

“I can explai-” Alex began. Brian cut him off immediately.

“You know what just happened? I got a call off a contact that you were supposed to meet tonight.  _ She  _ said that she waited at the drop-off for 20 minutes and saw no sign of anyone. ‘Was pretty angry if you ask me. I had to tell her I’d get someone there as soon as to get her another lot. Do you know how  _ embarrassing  _ that is? Do you reckon I  _ like _ being humiliated by tiny little fellas like you? It’s not good business practice, Al. In  _ fact,  _ it’s shit. You do understand that, yeah?”

“Yeah, but  _ you _ don’t understand. Look at me! I just got fucking  _ beat up _ and  _ mugged _ , Bri. Look at my fucking  _ nose _ ! This fat cunt of a man nicked my stash! Take it to the bloody big cheese if you want, I’ll just show him my bruised up ribs, is that sound?” Alex retaliated, roughly trying to scrub the dried blood from around his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “What was I gonna do? Wait until the girl showed up, only to tell her the bud got nicked? What’s the good in that?”

“Shit, Elmslie. I don’t know? Maybe if you stopped acting like such a pansy for five min-”

Alex saw red. He lunged over the coffee table at his boss, attempting to hit him anywhere he could reach. Brian had hit a nerve and Alex had had enough.They were locked in a tussle, and the younger man felt his fist graze the larger man's ear before being pinned back bodily. “Let. Me. Go.” Alex panted, exhausted by his short minute of hostility, ribs throbbing painfully.

“You can bloody calm down first, mate. Don’t even try to start on me, you know you’ll lose,” Brian said calmly. Alex stopped writhing and the bigger man released him slowly, putting him back on the dank armchair. He let the teen cool off for a while. When Alex’s breathing had evened out he continued.

“Look, mate. I’m sorry about what I just said, but you get why I’m a bit miffed, don’t you?” He sounded almost guilty for his earlier comment. The teen hated that his boss felt sympathy for him. He didn’t want it.

Alex nodded. “Yeah, no. I can’t help that I’m an easy target. It’s just  _ me _ . It’s not like I want to have my head kicked in on the regular.” He hesitated before continuing, “Do you think there’s a chance that-” he held his breath for a moment before pushing on, “that I could get a job that’s not on the field instead?” It came out as almost a whisper. He waited on tenterhooks for a response, keeping a close eye on the way Brian’s eyes slid out of focus as he reached around for an answer.

“Well, I mean, it’d be better for everyone if the drugs didn’t get nicked all the while...” The Geordie thought aloud. Alex sat forward in his seat, quietly eager to hear the verdict. But Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cardboard box and a lighter. He grabbed two tabs from the carton and lit them, passing one to the other man. Alex muttered his thanks and they both took long pulls on their cigarettes, exhaling deeply until they could hardly see each other through the swirling smoke. They flicked their ash into the week-old glass of cheap cider that stood on the table between them. After a long while, Alex heard Brian speak up once more.

“I’m not making any promises, kid, but I’ll ask around at the warehouse tomorrow and see if I can make a few calls? Again, I’m not saying I’ll get you anything solid,” but the smaller man almost beamed. 

“You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you, mate.” They finished their smoke and threw the filters into the glass. Brian stood. So did Alex. “I’ll be off then. Keep your phone on, Al. Take the day off tomorrow, I’ll put Laurence on your drop-offs.” Together, they headed for the door.

The younger man opened the door wide for his boss, watching him step out of the flat. “Thanks boss, I do appreciate it. Sorry for lashing out.”

“You better be,” He replied shortly, waving as he descended the stairs and disappeared out of sight. 

When Alex was alone once more, he let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps there was something to look forward to after all. Maybe he could be out of harm's way for the first time in his short life. He pulled the bolt and chain across on his front door and padded lightly over to the mirror that was leant against the wall. His face was still crusted with dried blood, and the skin around his right eye had begun to darken. The teen stepped into the bathroom to clean himself up.

Settling into bed ten minutes later, he allowed himself to drift off into a fitful sleep. Nightmares of times past plagued him that night, and when he awoke the next morning his pillow was damp with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I CANT GET RID OF THAT END NOTE PLS DONT LOOK

**Author's Note:**

> Other characters will be introduced in later chapters! I just want to flesh out George’s backstory some. Leave kudos if you want to see more! <3


End file.
